Carve a New Path (But Don't Look Back)
by lynne-monstr
Summary: All Germany wanted was for Prussia to be a little less - well, Prussia - and act a little more like a modern, respectful nation. But it doesn't take long to discover that what he thought he wanted might not be so great after all. Kink meme de-anon.
1. Chapter 1

De-anon from the kink meme for the prompt _Personality Change_.

* * *

Germany slammed the front door shut, hurling it back against the frame, and wished he could do the same to his brother. Concentrating on the beige walls of his front hallway rather than the white-haired menace walking next to him, he took a deep, steadying breath as they made their way towards the living room. Then he took another. It wasn't working, so he abandoned it as a lost cause and skipped straight to plan number two.

Moving quickly, he took a large step forward and spun around to face the source of his anger, extending his arm to block the path ahead. A small shudder of impact went through his palm and up his arm as his hand came to rest directly above where the skinny, dark tie met the edges of Prussia's still buttoned suit jacket.

"Why, Prussia?" he snapped, voice unyielding, the same tone that made even his most hardened soldiers flinch. "I know you are capable of at least pretending to respect our leaders. I've seen—"

"_Your_ leaders," Prussia cut in with a sneer, not phased in the least by the display. "Not mine. You all made that perfectly clear a long time ago." He leaned forward on the balls of his feet, entire body tensed as if prepared to spring.

God, not this again. Germany withdrew his arm to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His brother didn't often accompany him on government business, but today had been one of those rare occasions that cropped up every so often. A respected Federal Minister, newly initiated into the knowledge of the existence of Nations, had requested to meet the elusive Prussia face-to-face. Against his better judgment, Germany had complied and extended the invitation.

He made a mental note not to repeat that mistake, and got back to the matter at hand. "Regardless, there are certain things that are not appropriate to say, let alone to our most respected figure, and in the middle of an important meeting."

The rigid set of Prussia's shoulders eased, arms dropping to his sides as he shed the aggressive stance. "Wait. What? I thought this was about me calling that Minister's stupid Green initiative stupid."

One of Germany's hands clenched into a fist. "Do you even listen to yourself? There is nothing stupid about the environment." He shook his head. This was not the time for distraction. "That's not the point. That was bad. But, no. This was afterwards, when you called our boss 'The Iron Cun—'"

"That was a compliment!" Prussia broke in, indignantly. "She's got the girl equivalent of Balls of Steel. A Brass Pair! What else was I supposed to say!"

"Not that! Anything but that!" Germany lost the battle to stay composed, smacking a fist into his opposite palm. "That disgusting, horrible word. You embarrassed us both."

Prussia drew himself to his full height at the accusation, face hardening into what Germany always thought of as his battle expression, eyebrows drawn and lips set in a stern line, as if seeing everyone and everything, and eager to fight them all. It was an uncanny contrast to the sharp business suit; a strange blending of old and new.

"Fuck you, West. The world used to be fun, now you hypocritical little uptight shits are running everything, with your stupid rules and lists of things you can't say or do. I don't know what you all think is so great about the modern world. I think it sucks. "

With a curl of his lip, Prussia pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, and Germany knew he wasn't doing it out of any desire for the drug. This was spite; his brother knew exactly how much he hated and loathed those things.

A wave of rage rose within him at the deliberate snub and he advanced until they were nose to nose. The wall was directly to his left, and he shifted his stance to reach out with his far arm, placing it solidly against the plaster next to Prussia's head. A part of him (the part he worked so hard to bury under rules and regulations and paperwork) unfurled in satisfaction at crowding his brother's slighter frame against the living room wall, using his superior height and bulk to their full advantage.

Deftly, he withdrew his arm and plucked the cigarette away, tossing it onto the tiled hallway they'd just left. He would worry about the mess later. "That's a disgusting habit."

If Prussia was bothered by the close proximity, he didn't show it, just laughed and took out another cigarette. Before he could bring the foul thing to his lips, Germany grabbed his wrist and slammed it up against the wall, pinning it at shoulder height. It was only when Prussia's expression shuttered closed, eyes flicking uncertainly up before hardening into a challenging glare, that he realized how much force he'd used, how tight he was still squeezing.

Guilt flooded through him. He started to loosen his grip but Prussia beat him to it, twisting and breaking out of the hold. A blur caught the corner of his eye and Germany immediately threw himself backwards.

The elbow aimed at his jaw passed harmlessly between the two of them.

Prussia pressed his lips tightly together in a bitter parody of a smile, though the barest hint of pride leaked out from behind an upturned corner of his mouth. "Good, you still remember _some_ of what I taught you."

It was such a typical response that Germany had to fight back the bark of laughter that bubbled up in his throat. Because no matter how much the world changed, trying so hard to shift towards collaboration over declarations of war, Prussia remained Prussia. He was violent, and he was proud, and he refused to shed the aggressive, warlike mindset of his past. Fighting was still his instinctive response to everything that angered him.

Germany succeeded in suppressing the laughter, but the rage that had so recently consumed him was gone, smothered by the familiar comfort of his brother's belligerence. He fought to keep his gaze stern and disapproving, not wanting to end the discussion before reaching a satisfactory resolution.

But when Prussia went and lit the second cigarette, still in his possession throughout the minor scuffle, it was a clear indication the argument was over. There was no stopping his brother or making him listen to reason when he was in one of his moods, and this was clearly one of them.

"Take it—" Germany started, breaking off to wrinkle his nose as the foul smell hit him. "Take it outside."

Prussia opened his mouth, no doubt to wage some ridiculous argument.

He put a hand out to forestall whatever it was. "Prussia, please," he said, hoping to head off another fight. He wasn't above using flattery and politeness to get his way, and he was tired of arguments that went nowhere. "It's my house, too, and the smell takes forever to come out of the furniture."

With a sharp nod, and a bit off, "Fine," Prussia breezed past him and marched out the door, leaving a billowing trail of smoke in his wake.

Watching him go, Germany couldn't help but feel sorry for his older brother, whose collection of silly t-shirts and plethora of wide smiles hid a fiercely ordered military mind that never fully accepted the direction the world was moving in. He knew that as much as Prussia embraced the internet and mobile phones and all the other surface aspects of the modern world, there was still a large part of him forever stuck in the past, and Germany wasn't sure that would ever change.

There was nothing he could do about that so, with a sigh, he walked away in the opposite direction, heading to his bedroom to change out of the stuffy suit and into clothes more suitable for a casual dinner. Earlier, he'd made plans to meet with Italy, ostensibly to talk about the European economy, but in truth it was because he knew he'd need to relax after the long day of government meetings. And though he partook in many enjoyable hobbies, he'd found to his surprise that none were as calming as listening to his hyperactive friend chatter on about whatever topic was on his mind at the moment.

Not bothering to hold back the smile that spread across his face as he entered the room, Germany stripped off his jacket and replaced it neatly on the appropriate hanger. A quick shower and he was ready.

He pocketed his wallet and took a brief look around the house. No sign of Prussia. With a last call of "I'm going out. You're on your own for dinner," he left the house.

.

Walking along the picturesque cobblestone street near his destination, it struck Germany how the world had changed in so many ways since that day in the forest when he'd first stumbled across what he thought was a box of tomatoes.

Buildings got bigger, technology got smaller, life moved faster.

Italy stayed the same. Not the country, he amended. His friend. Italy had remained the eternally cheerful, fun-loving, steadfast person he always was.

After the tumultuous day and the fight with Prussia, he was looking forward to a dose of cheer.

They had arranged to meet at a small, outdoor café, and when he turned the corner, he could see Italy was already there, sitting at a little round table out on the sidewalk. Congregating around him was a small army of young, stylishly dressed women, chattering and laughing at something that had obviously just been said.

Some things truly never did change.

He stopped to watch as Italy talked with them all, hands gesturing every which way and head turning rapidly back and forth as he paid attention to everyone in turn. A long time ago, Germany would have wondered if perhaps it would be better to turn around, to leave his friend in the company he was so clearly enjoying. Now he knew better. Chuckling at the folly of his past self, he continued forward towards the group.

In mid-gesture, Italy's head turned his way and their eyes locked.

With a quick fluttering of his hands and what looked like a flurry of words, Italy was suddenly alone at the table, his admirers moving on in a flock of heels and hair. "Germany!" he called out, waving wildly and completely unnecessarily, the ever-present but genuine smile lighting up his face.

He found himself smiling back, the trials of the day already seeming farther away. With a small nod and a quick, "Thank you for meeting me," he sat down in the empty chair across the table.

Italy laughed. "That's what friends do!" Suddenly silent, he studied Germany intently. "You look upset, but different than normal. Not like when I didn't use to run fast enough, or when we don't raise our hands at meetings." His expression turned inquisitive, head tilting slightly to one side. "Why aren't you happy?"

"It's nothing."

Italy didn't respond, except to look at him unceasingly, eyes blinking every so often.

It was a surprisingly good interrogation tactic. "Fine. It's Prussia."

"Is he okay?" Italy's eyes widened further, which Germany didn't think was physically possible, and he was reminded that the two of them got along rather well. It made sense that Italy's first reaction would be concern.

"Yes, he's fine. It's just," he sighed and fidgeted with the cutlery on the table, turning the dull butter knife over and over in one hand, "he's so— he doesn't _understand._ This isn't the nineteenth century, or the eighteenth or the seventeenth, and he still acts like he's..." Germany lapsed into silence, fists clenched and knife gripped tight in one hand. "The drinking, the smoking, the fighting, the insults; it doesn't stop. He's impossible," he finished, feeling somewhat lame at the poor explanation.

Kind eyes looked at him, uncharacteristically alert. "I forget sometimes," he said, with a wistful look. Seeing Germany's puzzled expression, he clarified. "That you're not as old as the rest of us. A hundred years isn't such a long while. And we can only change ourselves so much to match the times."

For the first time, Germany felt young in his friend's presence. "You're saying he might never change?"

"Do you really want him to? He wouldn't be your brother if he was exactly like you." It wasn't an answer, which was in stark contrast to the normally straightforward, open nature Germany was used to dealing with. Then Italy smiled brightly and leaned back, returning to his more regular disposition and breaking the strange spell. "Besides, sometimes you need an older brother to tell you when you're being an idiot! Or a moron. Or a dumb bastard." He listed them off on each finger until they were both laughing.

Mind somewhat assuaged, Germany shifted the conversation around to Italy and his doings.

They continued talking, eating, and drinking as the sun went down, turning the sky from blazing orange to purple and finally a deep dark black, the only light coming from the restaurant's outdoor lamps and the windows of the surrounding shops. Eventually, it was time to part and, with a kiss to both cheeks, Italy flitted away.

Having eaten a little too much pasta, Germany decided on a small walk before heading home. He found himself wandering away from the lights of the main street, enjoying the peace of the moment. There would be no peace when he got back to the house and he wanted to savor the quiet while he could.

The stars were out in full force, he noticed, chancing to glance up. Not as much as in days gone by, but still there and still beautiful. He wondered what the older nations thought when they looked at the sky, so constant yet not immune to change over the course of millennia.

A thin, bright streak of light blazed amongst the specs of stars and brought him out of his musings, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

It was a shooting star.

_I wish Britain would get a headache and go home_.

Unbidden, the memory flashed to the front of his mind in startling clarity. Another dark, still night from what felt like another lifetime ago. He and Italy, a campsite, and a battle against impossible odds looming the next day. Germany had laughed at first, at Italy's childlike wish, but it had worked, hadn't it. What could it hurt to try again? He'd keep it simple this time.

Looking up at the sky, he concentrated on the exact spot the bright light had been. A slight breeze rustled his clothes as he pulled his thoughts together.

_I wish Prussia would act like a mature, peaceful democracy for once._

The moment the words swirled through his mind, Germany felt like an idiot. There was no such thing as wishing on a star, everybody knew that. What kind of nonsense had he picked up from Italy, anyway.

He smiled, laughing at his own foolishness, and made his way back home. Things would look better in the morning. They always did.


	2. Chapter 2

The Chancellery building was a massive structure, instantly recognizable by its severely geometric shape, all squares and circles and columns. It had housed his office for over ten years and Germany still wasn't entirely used to it.

Making his way past the security station, he headed straight for his office. There was so much to get done. Apologies needed to be said, written, and resaid in regards to yesterday's debacle, and only then could he start on the rest of his sizable workload. A tentative plan of action was already taking shape as he walked, and he felt some of the tension leave him as his mind imposed order on the coming day.

He hadn't seen a hair of Prussia since their fight and, frankly, he was relieved.

With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened at his floor, and he stepped out. He barely had a chance to enter the lobby area when he was accosted by a bony hand shoved in his direction. Shaking the hand on instinct, he recognized its owner as one of the many aides who worked in the building.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, good morning. Glad I bumped into you."

The formal, human name was no surprise. As time went on, it seemed less and less people were aware of the nations, and only a select few in his own government called him Germany these days.

Nodding, he echoed the pleasantry.

The aide started talking, and Germany resigned himself to the delay, tuning out the words in favor of cataloguing and prioritizing the day's pending tasks, refining his earlier plan. He was in the middle of calculating how long was left until he could make his excuses without appearing rude, when the next words overrode his train of thought.

"—well it was quite the apology and she was also very impressed with the revisions to the new proposal you drafted."

Exactly zero of that made any sense whatsoever, and Germany snapped his mind back to the previously one-sided conversation, lists and plans scattering in an instant. There was a lengthy, uncomfortable pause and it dawned on him that the aide was waiting for a response.

"What?" was all Germany could muster, mind still processing the odd statement.

"I said that everything is proceeding perfectly. I don't know how he did it, but your brother has impressed a lot of people this morning." Both thinning eyebrows were raised in an expression Germany chose to ignore.

He gave an absent reply, the words lost to his memory even as they were spoken. Uncaring of the potential breach in social protocol, he walked off, still reeling from the unexpected information.

An apology, the aide had said. Prussia had apologized? This early in the morning? Germany could count on his fingers the number of times he'd seen his brother issue any sort of retraction, and they were almost all for political reasons, a feint in a larger tactical scheme. Another explanation came to mind, far more unsettling. It was equally likely that Prussia had not apologized at all, but said something completely sarcastic and insulting, which everybody only misinterpreted as an apology. And when they figured it out, it would fall to Germany to clean up the mess.

None of those theories explained the strange remark about the draft proposal, but he chose not to worry about that yet. One problem at a time, he told himself, increasing his pace. Damage control had suddenly become a lot more important than it was ten minutes ago, and it had already been at the top of his agenda.

Opening his office door, he took several large steps inside before jerking to a halt. The momentum nearly sent him tripping over his feet and he stumbled to regain his balance.

There was someone already there, sitting in his chair.

He shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like Prussia had an office of his own to go to.

Not for lack of trying on Germany's part, though. He'd made the offer, back in the early 90s, and had gotten a paperweight thrown at his head and a shout about _not needing any fucking charity_ for his trouble. He hadn't asked again since.

"Morning, West." Prussia looked up from the desktop computer and smiled, the type of wide, honest grin that Germany didn't usually see on him unless a heavy amount of alcohol was involved.

Germany squinted, thrown off his guard. He'd expected smugness and the usual cocky attitude at having caught him so visibly unawares, flush with whatever scheme he was no doubt plotting. Instead, bright, earnest eyes shined up at him, radiating sincerity and openness, and Germany was instantly suspicious.

He crossed his arms and met the gaze, trying to see past the façade, see what Prussia was really thinking.

"What's this I hear about an apology?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. It was a trait they both shared.

Prussia shrugged, the strange smile not wavering. "What of it? We have important issues to deal with. It'd be counterproductive to let something as petty as ego get in the way of that, so I apologized. End of story."

In his entire life, Germany had never heard his brother refer to his own ego or self as petty. Frowning, he ran the sentence over again in his mind, just to be sure he heard correctly. There didn't appear to be a mistake.

"It wasn't a fake apology?" he asked, gazing downwards, needing to be sure.

The look he received indicated that Prussia was reassessing his level of intelligence, and Germany didn't know whether to laugh in disbelief or bristle at the implication. He stood stiffly, waiting for an answer.

Prussia sat up straighter in the chair. "What would be the point of that, except to waste everyone's time. Efficiency, West!" He rapped his knuckles lightly against the desk for emphasis. "Anything worth doing is worth doing right the first time. I know I taught you that."

He had, Germany remembered. But at the time, Prussia had been referring to skills such as killing an enemy with a single shot, and timing an encirclement maneuver to cut off any retreat to safety. Sincere apologies were not on the curriculum.

A few steps took him right up to the desk, and he placed both hands on the polished wood surface to lean over until they were at eye level. Deciding to leave the topic of efficiency behind for now, he shifted his attention to another matter that had been bothering him since the conversation with the Ministry aide.

He took a deep breath, not sure he was prepared for the answer, and asked, "And the Green initiative? You made changes? Yesterday you said it was stupid."

Scrutinizing every pale feature as he spoke, Germany searched for any hint of what the hell was going on, if this was all a big joke or game. Surely any minute now, Prussia would burst out laughing and taunt him mercilessly for believing the act.

But there was nothing. Prussia just shrugged again and kept smiling. "Changed my mind. You were right, the environment's important and I should have realized it sooner."

A strangled choking sound filled the room and it took Germany a moment to realize it was coming from him. He straightened up from the desk, tugging at his suit jacket in an attempt to reclaim some of his dignity, and cleared his throat. It wasn't the first time Prussia had struck him speechless, but it was the first time in a while that alcohol wasn't involved in the occurrence.

Unobtrusively, he brought one hand to the opposite wrist and pinched. Hard.

The uncanny, genial version of his brother was still there, and he was beginning to doubt his prior thought about this being a joke. There was nothing additional to be gained by keeping up a charade like this, and Prussia was as efficient in his pranks as he was in his fights. Nothing made sense, and he found himself at a loss.

A headache was forming behind his eyes and he sighed, resisting the urge to rub at them. "What are you doing here, Prussia?" he asked, defeat warring with resignation.

Prussia shook his head lightly and let out a small, amused huff of air. "Don't look so tense, West. I told you, I came to apologize. But since you're late, I decided to get a head start on your work."

Without waiting for a response, Prussia furrowed his brow before making a small 'ah' sound and grabbing at large pad concealed beneath a neatly stacked pile of papers. He held it aloft. "See, right here. The concept was good, I just added a few improvements."

Ignoring the inaccurate jibe at his supposed lateness, Germany walked around the desk to stand next to Prussia's chair – his chair, but Prussia was sitting in it – and took the notepad. He recognized it as his preliminary notes for a new project he'd been assigned, but hadn't had time to develop past the initial concept. Skimming the small, slanted writing scribbled under and around his own neat print, his eyes grew wide. His rough plan to fund additional energy research had been augmented, and now contained a list of potential sectors to channel the money from, as well as approximate monetary estimates.

That wasn't what surprised him. Logistics had always been a specialty of Prussia's. It was the second sector on the list that caught his attention: Military spending. Leafing through the pages, they were filled with similar notes, and columns of numbers. He flipped the pad back to the cover page and looked up, again at a loss for words.

Prussia swiveled the chair around to face him, and leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. His expression fell slightly at the lack of reaction from Germany.

"Well?" he asked, red eyes glinting in expectation.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you voluntarily gave up military funds. You've never been much interested in any other areas."

Leaning forward, Prussia propped his elbows on each of the chair's armrests and steepled his fingers, regarding Germany seriously from above them. "That's not fair and you know it. I've done plenty of things outside the military. My education system, as you should know, was way ahead of its time. A little credit, please."

That was true, Germany conceded with a nod. He was surprised to realize that the rebuke was free of the bevy of curses his brother so frequently liked to employ. One more piece of strangeness on top of a morning of strange.

It was a pleasant change, but it put him no closer to figuring this out. "Who are you?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

Prussia laughed and got up from the chair to sling an arm around his shoulders. "Don't be an idiot, West! You're not the only one who knows how to run a country. Now, stop wasting time, we have a lot to get done today!"

_Don't be an idiot_. At the words, Germany flashed back to his conversation with Italy the previous night, and to the wish he'd made afterwards. It couldn't be, he thought. Wishes didn't actually come true. It was much more likely that some part of their argument had actually penetrated Prussia's stubborn head, and this was his way of attempting to finally enter the twenty-first century.

He turned the thought over several times in his mind before deciding that whatever had caused the unexpected about-face didn't matter. What mattered was that Prussia was finally acting like the sort of person he was proud to be around.

As the day wore on, Germany kept waiting for things to revert back to normal, for Prussia to erupt in a stream of insults and curses at anyone who dared disagree with him, or to simply get bored and go home. But it never happened.

They had several meetings to attend, and throughout all of them, Prussia had been kind, respectful, professional; the type of behavior he knew his brother was capable of, but which he usually preferred not to exhibit in peacetime. More than one person had come up to them to remark on what a good team they made. The pile of work that appeared so daunting in the morning proved to be barely more than a minor obstacle with two people working at it together.

As late afternoon descended into evening, Germany decided that there was only one thing that could make the day better. He nudged at Prussia's shoulder, where he sat working diligently nearby, fingers flying over a small laptop keyboard. They'd dragged in an extra chair and computer for him earlier, as Germany's desk was plenty big enough for two people to work at comfortably.

White hair went flying as Prussia jerked his head around at the touch. His hands stilled and he blinked several times.

"Ready for a beer?" Germany asked. "I thought we'd go to that place you're always trying to drag me to. With the jukebox."

On previous occasions, he'd always refused to go to that particular venue, clearly able to image the antics his brother could get up to with a machine like that, filled with nothing but 80s power ballads. But Prussia had done so much for him today, and he wanted to do something in return. And if that meant exposure to cheesy music and drunken singing, then he was willing to grin and face it.

Prussia ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, no thanks. Don't really feel like drinking."

Unable to think of anything to say, Germany settled for staring. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today. What had the world come to when his brother didn't want to go to a bar and drink beer? Those were two of his favorite pastimes.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Shaking his head, he tried again. But all that came out was, "Excuse me?"

"Let's stay in a watch a movie or something."

It wasn't a bad idea, he thought, and a quiet night in did sound nice, so he was happy to go along with the new plan. "I'd like that," he answered, and began straightening his desk in preparation to leave.

When they got home, Germany grabbed himself a beer from the fridge while Prussia went downstairs to change out of his suit.

"You want one?" he called out.

"Nope, I'm good." Prussia's voice drifted up from the basement.

Depositing the single bottle on the kitchen table, Germany retreated into his own room to do the same.

After a quiet dinner they settled onto opposite sides of the couch, and Germany picked up the remote control to begin flicking through the channels in search of a suitable action movie. Soon enough, a series of explosions, loud dialogue, and intricately choreographed fight scenes were playing out on the screen in front of them.

Not even twenty minutes had gone by when Germany shifted on the couch, restless. Several minutes later he did it again.

"You okay?" Prussia asked, turning his head slightly.

Germany nodded and forced himself to stop moving. "Yes, fine."

They resumed watching the movie.

The feeling of agitation subsided, and he had almost convinced himself he was imagining things, when it flared up again even stronger. A powerful urge to get up and _do_ something, though he had no idea what that might be. Taking the last sip from his beer, he sneaked a glance sideways, hoping the dark room, lit solely by the flickering screen, would mask the movement.

Prussia was slouched back against the couch looking at ease, one leg crossed wide over his knee, hand drumming against his leg in time to the movie's background music. The glare of the television played across his features, making him look even paler than he already was.

The loud boom of an explosion nearly made Germany jump, and his head snapped towards the source of the noise. On screen, an entire building was collapsing into rubble and flame, and his first thought was that whoever was in charge of demolition consulting should have been fired. He'd watched countless buildings collapse in his lifetime and that was one of the worst fakes he'd ever seen.

He opened his mouth to say just that, and comprehension hit him like a bucket of cold water. His uneasiness, the feeling of something missing, why he wasn't able to relax.

The last time they watched a movie—no, every time they watched a movie—Prussia would spew the most outrageous stream of inane commentary, and it drove Germany crazy. But no matter how angry he started out, by the end they were always both yelling advice to the screen, laughing at the badly choreographed fight scenes, and pointing out all the historical inaccuracies.

Tonight, there was nothing at all. Prussia had been perfectly silent.

Germany suddenly wanted that stupid commentary.

The room seemed far too large, the noise from the television no longer enough to fill the space. He shifted again on the couch, words spilling forth impulsively. "That was a pathetic excuse for a demolition. A child could have done it better."

Prussia made a non-committal noise and turned back to the movie.

Disappointment coursed through him with a strength he was unprepared for, and Germany felt the slightest bit hurt at the obvious disinterest. He was being childish, he told himself sternly. Shoving the juvenile thought aside, he got up to fetch another beer.

He didn't waste his breath to ask Prussia if he wanted one.

They watched the rest of the movie in silence.

.

Germany half expected the world to return to normal the next day, but upon entering the kitchen, there was Prussia sitting at the table, dressed smartly in a suit with his jacket hanging off the chair back and unknotted tie draped around his neck. A steaming mug was set on the table nearby.

"Morning, West. I left you some coffee," he greeted, too cheerful for someone who previously claimed that getting up at dawn had become obsolete with the advent of electricity.

Reaching into a cabinet for his usual mug, Germany poured himself a cup before responding. "You're coming in to work again?"

The mug halted halfway to Prussia's mouth. "There's a bunch of stuff I didn't get done yesterday. Hope you don't mind sharing your office again." He took the delayed sip with a satisfied hum.

Germany was about to protest, to insist that they would find Prussia his own space, when an unexpected thought flashed through his mind. He had enjoyed sharing his office yesterday. Pausing, he examined the thought from all angles, searching for the flaw.

"If you act like you did yesterday, then yes, we can share," he answered, taking a seat at the table with his now full mug of coffee.

Prussia didn't appear offended by the response. If anything, he looked pleased. "It's a deal," he agreed.

For the rest of the week, the same pattern continued to repeat itself day after day. In the mornings, Prussia was waiting in the kitchen with coffee, and they would both go to the office. The work went faster and Germany got more done than he'd ever dared to hope, settling seamlessly into a routine beside his brother, the two of them working effortlessly together as if they'd been doing it all along.

The apprehensive thoughts that plagued him that first night seemed silly in the light of day; the nervous thoughts of a little boy seeking validation, and not that of a grown, powerful nation. He let them fade into practically nothing. Occasionally, he would feel a faint stirring of unease, but for lack of any other explanation, attributed it as nothing more than the discomfort of adjusting to a new routine.

"Prussia," he asked, getting his brother's attention. "Can you take a look at this report. Something's off about it and I'd appreciate your insight."

He passed a thin manila folder across the desk. They'd been working side by side for almost a week and Germany had gotten used to having someone he could trust act as a second opinion.

Prussia gave him a pleasant smile. "Sure, I'm on it."

Taking the folder, he put it at the top of his pile, and it didn't escape Germany's notice that he had chosen to place the documents in a position of high priority, as opposed to slipping them underneath the stack the way he tended to do for less important work.

Returning his attention to the computer, Germanys resumed his own work, already feeling lighter. There was nothing to be worrying about. Everything was neatly in its place, exactly the way he liked it.

He ignored the slight twinge that surfaced at the thought.

.

It was the first weekend since Prussia began joining him at the office, and Germany was taking full advantage of having absolutely no work to attend to.

Long distance runs were an indulgence he didn't often have the opportunity to take, as they were time consuming, but today he ran until he was sweaty and breathless and energized in that particular way only a good workout brought. The weather was beautiful; cool enough to be pleasant but not yet cold enough to chase him indoors, and so even after returning home, he lingered, working off the exercise high with a series of cool-down stretches in the front yard.

Prussia emerged from the house, dressed in casual clothes and a light sweater.

Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, Germany approached. He rolled his shoulders. "Want to spar? It's been a while."

Sparring with older brother was always a fun challenge. Germany was stronger, but Prussia was faster and had the edge in experience. It would be the perfect way to get rid of the extra post-run energy, as well as an excellent opportunity to spend some non-work time together. Though they'd been constantly in each other's presence all week, he felt like he hadn't actually seen Prussia in ages.

Rather than the enthusiastic acceptance he'd been expecting, Prussia merely shook his head. "No thanks. Not really in the mood."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. Changing tactics, he raised an eyebrow and added, "Afraid you'll lose?" Taunts like that never failed to get a rise out of his brother, even when only spoken in jest.

This time the words sailed right over his head. "Nah, just don't really feel like it. I'm going to go take a walk." With a pleasant smile that seemed to be his sole expression nowadays, he wandered off.

Watching him disappear down the street, the feeling of wrongness that had been intermittently plaguing Germany all week came back full force, and this time he couldn't blame it on the change in his work routine.

Prussia didn't want to fight, didn't want to drink, was abnormally even tempered, and had replaced all of his hobbies with days of working diligently in the office.

Germany never thought he'd see the day when he was upset by that. But he was upset. Because he was finally able to place a label on the troubling feelings that had been hounding him since that first morning after their fight, living not quite unnoticed in the back of his mind.

He missed his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

The door didn't make so much as a creak as Germany nudged it open. It should have creaked, he thought sullenly. A physical testament to the fact that he was entering without permission, crossing a line that should have remained intact.

But the door was Prussia's, and was as well-oiled as the rest of his room was meticulously organized. The crisply made bed, shelves of books without a speck of dust to be found, and neatly vacuumed floor were all proof of that.

He was doing the right thing, he reassured himself. Prussia's unfaltering good conduct showed no sign of letting up, and as the days wore on, it became increasingly clear to Germany that he was sharing his life with a stranger. Several days ago he found an entire carton's worth of cigarettes in the trash. And if that wasn't bad enough, the next day he stumbled upon one of Prussia's vintage guns lying unattended in the garage, uncharacteristically dirty. But when he mentioned it, Prussia just shrugged it off as unimportant. Germany ended up cleaning the gun himself, caring for the weapon in the same way Prussia had once taught him; the action was the closest he'd felt to his brother in over a week.

His stomach twisted at the memories. As much as he abhorred the smoking, and was often disturbed by his brother's fondness for anything with an edge or a trigger (or any capacity to cause bodily harm), this new pleasant mask of Prussia's that never once slipped troubled him even more.

Hearing noise from upstairs, Germany cursed under his breath. Prussia was back early. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and — abandoning his original plan to find a strategically hidden yet easily stumbled-upon location — settled for tossing them onto the computer desk near Prussia's laptop.

An angry sounding tweet screeched out as the unopened pack made contact with the desk, and Germany froze. It was Gilbird. His brother's pet bird had been so quiet, sleeping soundly at the edge of the desk, that he hadn't even noticed his presence.

Small, beady eyes stared him down and Germany gulped. Regaining his composure, he put a finger to his lips. "Let's keep this our little secret, shall we?" he whispered, carefully backing out of the room.

There was no definitive answer, but Germany imagined he heard a faint chirp of agreement. Perhaps, he thought, it was possible that Gilbird missed Prussia as much as he did.

He hurried from the room and arrived upstairs just as Prussia's entered the living room area.

"Hey, West," the greeting was mild and cheerful, and Germany bit back a sigh.

Adopting a nonchalant expression, as if he hadn't just been invading his brother's personal space, Germany entered the room. "Welcome back. How was your walk?"

Prussia didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "It was great! You should come with me next time."

"Maybe next time," he echoed, dread seeping through him at the words. He'd stopped accompanying Prussia on his frequent walks after a single attempt, too disturbed at seeing him this way outside of a work setting to want to continue. Not that it was natural seeing it in the office, but at least it wasn't as jarring in a professional atmosphere.

Prussia smiled and headed downstairs. Soon after, Germany heard the faint noises of the shower running.

Taking a seat on the couch, he put his head in his hands. It had been several days since he realized he wasn't enjoying Prussia's new attitude adjustment, and now it was all he could think about. He'd already tried a few subtle attempts at coaxing him back to his original behavior but they had all failed.

Just yesterday he'd brought home a selection of military history texts, detailing strategies and major battles from periods throughout world history, and scattered them in various places throughout the house. He'd come back from Italy's place later on to find them all neatly stacked on his bedside table, with a note written in tiny script on the very top, reading, _'West: Wanted to make sure you didn't misplace these. The best way to not repeat our past mistakes is to learn from them - it's great to see you studying again.' _

Germany groaned at the recollection, shifting to lie down across the couch. He threw an arm over both his eyes, as if to physically block out the memory, and hoped Prussia would find the damn cigarettes soon. And remember that he was supposed to like them.

Footsteps ascending the stairs pulled him from his reverie and he lowered his arm to glance towards the sound.

Prussia was walking towards the couch, the pack of cigarettes gripped in one hand. He hadn't bothered to change after his shower and was clad only in one of their dark blue bath towels, wrapped low around his waist. Soaking wet hair dripped onto his face and down his shoulders, and a series of small foot-shaped puddles of water trailed from his feet all the way back to the top of the stairs.

"We need to talk, West."

Germany happened to agree, but old habits were hard to break and he sat up from the couch and cut in before his brother could continue. "Do you mind? You're tracking water everywhere."

It was an old argument between them. Germany would insist it was hazardous, Prussia would counter that if he felt so strongly he could go ahead and wipe it up himself, and they'd stare each other down until one of them either caved in or started laughing. The first to break cleaned the water. It was a routine that aggravated Germany to no end, because he knew Prussia was just as particular as he when it came to domestic order, and was only being stubborn for the sheer sake of winning a dispute.

But when Prussia smiled with a sheepish, "Yeah, you're right. My mistake," and went to fetch a towel, Germany was left alone on the couch feeling strangely let down. He had instinctively prepared for a staring match, but found himself without an opponent.

After cleaning the watery mess, Prussia returned clad in loose cotton pants and a worn t-shirt, hair mostly toweled off and pointing haphazardly in every direction. The pack of cigarettes was back in his hand. He picked up as if the conversation had never been interrupted.

"Why'd you put these in my room?" Prussia actually looked hurt, eyes imploringly wide and lower lip curled down in a slight pout, and Germany was torn between guilt and wanting to throttle him.

Another plan about to go down in flames, he thought despondently, but determined to see it through just in case. He fought to keep the defeat off his face. "I found them in our study. Thought I'd return them to you." That was technically true. The trash can he found them in was indeed in the study.

Prussia didn't look convinced, but didn't press the matter. He shook the carton lightly. "Do you know where in my room I found these?" He didn't wait for the answer, which was just as well, seeing as Germany knew exactly where he'd put them. "Gilbird was sitting on them!"

Interesting, thought Germany. The bird must have hopped over after he'd left, and he wondered if it was a deliberate move to draw Prussia's attention. He wouldn't doubt it. Gilbird was very clever and cunning when he wanted to be.

"Are you trying to give him bird cancer or something?"

Both of Germany's eyebrows shot up. "He's been with you for centuries," he pointed out. "I do not believe bird cancer is a concern. And you smoke them all the time. It's never been a problem for either of you."

"You can never be too careful these days! Besides, I gave those things up. It's a disgusting habit."

He should have been happy to hear his exact words being repeated back to him, but instead, Germany cringed. Accepting failure, he sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Very well," he agreed.

Prussia smiled, that same infuriating pleasant smile. "Thanks, West. Knew you'd understand," he said, and bounded out of the room towards the kitchen. Shortly after, Germany heard a series of rustling sounds indicating the cigarettes were again in the trash.

Cigarettes: _Failure_. Military texts: _Failure._

Germany tallied the score in his head. His subtle tactics did not appear to be working. Perhaps it was time to talk to Prussia's friends. He groaned and let himself fall back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers.

It didn't.

.

France was late.

As usual, Germany thought, consulting his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Each time they met, he vowed that next time he would show up fifteen minutes later than arranged, but was never able to bring himself to go through with it. So he waited.

"Germany. Early again." France breezed in, the picture of Paris fashion, and Germany noticed many of the women in the restaurant (and a handful of the men) turn their heads to follow his entrance.

Standing up from the table, Germany rose to greet him. "No. You're the one who's late." But he was smiling as he said it, well used to the oft repeated cadence of their greetings.

Over the years, improving relations and closer ties within the European community had evolved into a standing monthly dinner between the two of them—to keep in touch, talk a little business, and engage in a bit of showing off their respective cities – and tonight they were meeting on Germany's turf. He'd chosen this particular restaurant with France in mind, the atmosphere a mix of trendy and understated.

This month's meeting wasn't actually scheduled to occur for another week, but Germany had requested to push the date forward. There were things he needed to discuss and he didn't want to delay.

They took their seats, and France immediately plucked the wine list from the center of the table, making an approving sound at the number of French vintages on offer. Germany was content to leave that aspect of the evening to him.

Their frequent dinners were always enjoyable, and this time was no different. They traded stories and anecdotes as they ate, and he soon found himself laughing uproariously as France relayed the belated details of how he'd disclosed his identity to his latest leader. Germany responded in turn by launching into a description of the time he helped the Italy brothers retrieve a man from atop one of their basilicas.

Once the meal was over and the various plates cleared away, they lapsed into comfortable silence. Germany swirled his glass of wine, watching the play of light as it danced across the liquid red surface. He was enjoying the taste immensely and knew without asking that France had ordered it specifically to suit his preferences.

Taking a long sip, he set the glass down. "Have you spoken to Prussia lately?" he asked, deliberately casual, as if he hadn't been waiting the entire evening for the right time to bring up the topic.

Across from him, France paused and set his own wine glass on the table, pursing his lips. "No. He cancelled on me and Spain the past several times we had plans. Said he was going to stay in." He shrugged a shoulder and took a sip of his drink. "I assumed he was busy with work, that's all. Why, is something wrong?"

Germany froze, the wine sloshing in its glass as his hand gave an instinctive jerk. "How did you know he was working with me?" It wasn't something that they had announced.

France chucked and gave him a knowing grin. He waved the hand not holding the stem of his glass. "Please. It's obvious."

Before Germany could protest or question that strange statement, France continued.

"I've known Prussia a long time, he has a certain flair. A little more muted than usual, this time, but still there." With a graceful turn of his head, France shook his hair out and let loose a grin so bright that Germany was tempted to look away. "Don't be fooled by this beautiful face. I know that there's no way you could ever have done all that work on your own. You're good, Germany, but not _that_ good. "

France ended on a wink, leaving Germany to wonder what exactly he meant by that last statement. But he dismissed it, used to the constantly playful demeanor, and attempted to get the conversation back on track. "He's been acting different lately. I don't know why."

That wasn't exactly true, but he had no intention of going into the details of their private argument. Nor could he bring himself to mention his growing suspicion about the star and the wish. It was too absurd to say aloud.

"Did you say something that upset him?" France's voice had taken on an edge that Germany hadn't heard directed at himself in a long time, and he was abruptly reminded that the nation in front of him had been good friends with his brother for longer than he'd been alive, and despite their sometimes ugly history, remained that way to this day.

Germany didn't blink. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Which was true, and had also been nagging at him. Because yes, they had a fight, but there was nothing that set this particular argument apart from any other they'd had over the past couple decades. No reason for Prussia to have suddenly undergone such a drastic change.

France laughed, dropping the cold demeanor like it had never been there, the sound shaking Germany out of his reverie. "Yes well, our Prussia can be quite a handful." He sipped at his wine, turning serious. "I'm sure it will pass. He always bounces back, even from the very worst of things." Blue eyes stared off into nothing and Germany knew he was thinking of the past. Just as abruptly, France snapped out of it and added, subdued, "We all do. But your brother in particular, he's resilient, deep inside."

Instead of comforting him, France's words made him feel worse. Because he was right, Prussia had always been a fighter, a stubborn bastard who refused to stay down for long. But he hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of that person for almost two weeks. Was it possible that this had nothing to do with their disagreement? That his own wish had done this, had succeeded in destroying his brother where an entire world of enemies had failed?

The thought made him feel ill, and he downed the rest of his wine in one large gulp. His stomach churned.

"Ah," France chided. "That's fine wine you're drinking." Despite the words, he picked up the bottle of wine and poured until the glass was again full.

Many hours and many more glasses later, Germany returned home, the wine and France's words still buzzing in his head.

He wasn't ready to accept that some hastily made wish might be the cause of Prussia's abrupt transformation, regardless of his misgivings at dinner. While it was true that the timing fit, that was the extent of it. It was preposterous to think a stupid shooting star could have any real effect on the real world. The whole thing was beyond ludicrous and he refused to consider it before exhausting the much more plausible idea that Prussia was still striving to make things right from the disastrous meeting weeks ago. (There was another reason, buried deep, that he refused to examine too closely. A fight, he could fix; but if his wish was indeed the cause, he wouldn't even know where to start.)

The best course of action, he decided, was to speak with Prussia directly. Subtle obviously wasn't working. Like any good plan, it wasn't worth delaying. He was going to talk to Prussia _now._

An answering thud startled him out of his thoughts and he realized with slight embarrassment that he'd slammed his hand against his bedroom dresser for emphasis. Clearing his throat, he stuck the errant hand in his pocket and made his way down to Prussia's room.

The door was closed. Germany hesitated and with a deep breath, knocked. "Prussia?"

There was only silence, and he was on the verge of turning back when a tired sounding, "Yeah, come in," caught his ears. He opened the door and entered, hovering at the edge of the room.

Prussia was sitting up in bed, shirtless, the covers pooled around his waist. He finished rubbing at his eyes and looked at Germany in confusion. "What's going on? It's late."

"I met France for dinner tonight."

He would have given anything for Prussia to react by burying his head under the covers and shouting something along the lines of, _You bothered me for this shit, go the fuck to sleep._ But all he received was a nod and an encouraging, "Okay, and…?"

Everything he'd been keeping bottled up swelled to the surface. Prussia's strange, helpful behavior; how he had stopped doing all the things he loved; the perpetually even temper. But when Germany went to voice the thoughts, his throat tightened up and the words got stuck. He blamed the wine.

"I miss the old you," he finally managed to say.

"Oh." Prussia's face fell and he glanced down at the bed covers. "I thought you liked that I was helping."

"I do!" he said immediately, pushing himself from the doorframe and taking several large steps, until he was standing beside the bed next to where Prussia sat. "It's great, but I—" how could he phrase this without sounding like a hypocrite? "All the things you used to like, you've lost interest in. You haven't smoked a cigarette, or cursed, or had a beer since that day we fought. Is everything okay?"

At first Prussia seemed bewildered, but then he sat up straighter and fixed Germany with a penetrating look. "Nothing's going on, West. I got bored of that stupid stuff. It was holding me back. This is who I am."

All thoughts of reassuring Prussia that it wasn't necessary to undergo such a drastic change fled as Germany processed what his brother had just said. "You got bored of beer!" he asked, disbelieving.

"Yeah," Prussia responded with a laugh. "Doesn't seem to be much point in it."

There was nothing Germany could think of to say to that. He barely recognized the person in front of him. Physically, Prussia looked the same– pale and lithe, white hair, red eyes, faded scars in familiar places—practically unchanged for as long as Germany could remember, but the rest now belonged to a stranger. A queasy feeling washed through him that had nothing to do with too much wine.

He was sick of polite smiles and offers to help, and missed the things they used to do together. He wanted to get drunk at the bar just the two of them , flick beer in each other's faces when they got aggravated and laugh about it afterwards, hurl abusive comments at the stupid made for TV movies they always used to watch, spar until they were both bruised and exhausted and out of breath. He wanted to punch this new Prussia in the face until he got a reaction other than amicable kindness and endless patience.

Unable to bear it any longer, he looked away, eyes roaming haphazardly around the room, anywhere but the bed. His eye caught on a stack of neatly folded clothes in the corner next to the computer desk. A colorful mixture of blues, whites, reds, and a smattering of gray. Recognition rolled in like a gathering storm cloud and a sinking feeling settled in his stomach because he knew exactly what those were.

His brother's old uniforms.

What were they doing piled up like this? In a haze, his feet carried him over and he lifted a jacket off the top of the pile. It was in impressive condition considering its age, with barely the faintest hints of wear and dirt.

"What's this?" The question was unnecessary. He asked it anyway, hoping for some crazy explanation, that this wasn't what it looked like.

"Oh, those." Prussia waved a dismissive hand. "It's about time I got rid of those old things. Thought I'd see if any of the museums wanted them."

Many years ago Germany had proposed the exact same thing. For the next week, he'd needed to borrow makeup from Liechtenstein to cover the resulting black eye the suggestion had earned him. The thought of getting rid of them now seemed wrong, somehow.

"But you love these," he protested.

That wasn't a guess on his part. Every rare once in a while, he'd catch Prussia wearing one of the old uniforms, wandering around the house when he thought he was alone. Germany had never once said anything, preferring to slink away unnoticed the few occasions it had happened. The look on Prussia's face during those times, sad and distant but still proud, wasn't something he felt comfortable intruding on.

"Everyone's got to change with the times. Even me."

The voice broke Germany out of his memories, and he looked back over to the bed. "You should keep them," he countered.

Prussia shrugged, a slight frown marring his face as he asked, "What gives? I thought you'd be thrilled to get those out of the house."

And maybe a few weeks ago he would have been. Now it just felt like another part of his brother was slipping irreversibly away. He cleared his throat. "You've been so busy lately. Why don't you let me take care of this for you."

Before Prussia could respond, either in agreement or protest, Germany picked up the entire heap. Bidding his brother goodnight, he left the room, the weight of the discarded clothes heavy in his arms and mind.


	4. Chapter 4

The last of the wine had left his system by the time Germany awoke the next morning, and he wasn't sure if the sour feelings that remained were a result of the drink's aftereffects or the events in the basement that followed.

What he did know was that, standing in his bathroom preparing for the day ahead, he felt cut adrift.

Failure was something he was well acquainted with, and experience had taught him that the most effective course of action for such occurrences was to simply get back up and push forward to the next plan, and the next, and so on. Unfortunately, his supply of plans had run dry, and there was nothing left to push towards. It was time to face the truth.

Somehow his wish had come true.

Prussia's abrupt change into a well-behaved, kind, boring shadow of himself was a direct result of Germany's own careless actions. He'd done this to his own brother. With one stupid wish, he'd taken everything away.

Germany smiled bitterly at his reflection.

His reflection stared back, smile looking more mocking than bitter to his eyes, and eerily out of place on the otherwise youthful features. It was one of the most twisted truths about being a nation, that no matter how many times he messed up or did something horribly wrong, the same young, innocent looking visage was there to greet him. Far more fitting, he thought, not for the first time, would be if the outside changed to match the inside.

Splashing a handful of cold water on his face, Germany left his reflection behind and went to fetch his mobile. There was a call he needed to make.

He dialed by memory.

Several rings later, a cheerful voice greeted him. "Germany! I'm so happy you called But why are you calling, you should be at work. Are you okay or—"

"I'm fine. I need to talk to you," Germany felt bad about cutting him off, but this couldn't wait.

"Okay!" Italy paused. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Is that not good?"

"What a silly question, Germany. You know I always have time for –"

A swell of shouts, bangs, and noises obscured Italy's voice through the phone. The sound of a car horn honking shrieked in his ear and Germany pulled the phone away, looking at it in alarm.

"Italy? Italy!" This couldn't be happening. He needed to talk to Italy and needed to talk now.

All at once, the noise mostly cut out, save for some light chatter in the background. "Sorry, sorry! I just got out of the car and went to find someplace quieter. Romano's ordering coffee."

Germany sighed in relief. Italy was his last hope. He spared a moment to laugh at the unexpected reversal. Italy was many things to him, but _last hope_ was never a title he anticipated bestowing.

"What is it you wanted to talk about? Is this about the pasta, because I told you last time that twelve minutes is too long when it's fresh."

As stressed as he was, Germany couldn't help burying his head in his free hand at that. One day he would succeed in convincing Italy that not all emergencies had to be pasta-related. "This is not about pasta," he retorted.

"Oh."

"It's about—" he stopped, feeling foolish. With a steadying breath, he pressed on, "Do you remember the shooting star from many years ago."

"Yeah, that was the best! I've been looking for another one. I saw these really pretty paints, but they're so expensive and I don't want to buy them until we fix the economy problems but I really want them."

After analyzing the sentence in his head, Germany filed the second part away in his mental list of Christmas gift ideas, and was disheartened by the rest. "You are saying they're rare?" he confirmed.

"More like, you never know when they're going to show up. It happens all the time, but we can only see them if they're large enough and at night. "

Germany was taken aback at Italy's astronomy knowledge until he remembered that his friend had been around back during the time when many of the great discoveries in the field were being made, some of them from his own country. Switching topics, he asked, "How do the wishes work?"

Italy laughed. "Germany, shooting star wishes aren't science. They're just a thing. You wish on them and sometimes it comes true."

By this point, Germany was pacing his bedroom, endless circles taking him nowhere. He stopped short, wanting his full concentration now, for the most important question. "But what if you made a mistake. How do you reverse it?"

"You ask the funniest questions. No one's ever asked me that before. Let me think."

There was a pause and Germany imagined he could see the scene play out. Italy would be standing, the phone pressed against one ear, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. He was probably biting his lip, too, Germany thought.

It took him a moment to realize he was smiling into thin air.

Then Italy was back. "Um, I guess you could try to find another one and make a reverse wish." There was shouting in the background. "I have to go now! Romano's holding my coffee for me and we have a rule that he can drink it if I make him wait too long."

Germany hung up, the phone still clenched tight in his hand. Italy wasn't the authority on wishes that he'd hoped for. But the idea of a reverse was wasn't a bad one. It was the type of logical solution he himself would have arrived at and it appealed to his sense of order and symmetry.

For the first time, he began to feel optimistic that he could fix his mistake. That he hadn't lost Prussia for good. Holding the thought close, he finished getting dressed and left for work, already eager for nightfall.

.

Every night for the next several days, Germany walked, eyes fixed on the sky until his feet were sore and his eyelids betrayed him with heaviness. It was how he'd started this wishing business and it was how he was going to end it.

Except there wasn't a single shooting star to be found.

The combination of late nights spent stargazing and full days at the office began to take their toll, as grogginess and exhaustion replaced his earlier enthusiasm. Ironically, it was Prussia's newfound devotion to office work that saved him from falling behind in his duties. All the while, looking at Prussia— seeing the mild smiles and endless hours spent happily engrossed in reports and documents— got harder and harder, guilt twisting in Germany's chest like a knife between the ribs.

He had to do something, anything to make it right again, something besides just staring at the sky and waiting for luck to stumble his way. He had to find a solution and grab hold of it, force it to come to him. A few days ago he had been positive about the wish being at fault, but the slightest of doubts was starting to worm its way into his mind, becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

A half-formed idea came to him late one night as he teetered on the edge of sleep, drained after another fruitless night of sky-watching. Maybe if he could force Prussia into living his old life, he would start acting like himself again. Not like he had previously tried, the ineffective subtle tactics, but something truly proactive. It seemed farfetched but it couldn't hurt, he decided, as sleep overcame him.

He spent the next day at the office contemplating the tentative plan, leaving his work woefully neglected. The day was unbearably pleasant and by the end, he decided to make the attempt, if for no other reason than for the sheer sake of breaking the monotony. Organizing his desk, Germany logged out of the computer and turned to Prussia.

"We're going out," he announced. "It's Friday and we will have fun."

Halting his work, Prussia looked at him, head cocked. "I thought we were having fun."

Germany was on the verge of laughing when he realized it wasn't a joke, and he sobered. "No. You and I are going out to a bar and we're going to drink beer and laugh at frivolous things and we will enjoy it. Understood?"

He desperately wanted Prussia to make a fuss, to curse him out and tell him he'd do what he fucking wanted and only what he wanted, and that Germany could go to hell. But of course, that didn't happen.

Instead, Prussia hit a series of keys and shut his laptop down. "Sure, if it means that much to you. Let's go."

So they went.

The bar was a regular sight for both of them, having come around often over many evenings in the past several years. The bartender and owner, a fixture in the establishment for as long as they'd been coming, waved hello and filled two glasses before they'd even taken a seat on an empty set of stools. With a practiced air, she set the matching glasses in front of them. "Haven't seen you boys here in a while."

"Hello, Deborah," Germany greeted the familiar face, sharp features framed by short, steel colored hair, and slid a couple notes across the bar to cover the drinks. "It's been a busy month," he offered as explanation.

They continued making small talk—business was good, the family was well, and yes, the weather was starting to turn colder— until another patron approached the bar, needing attention.

Germany took the opportunity to look around. Nothing had changed since he'd last stepped foot inside, almost a month ago. It was still the same small place, old film posters lining the walls and football scarves hanging from the ceiling. He spied a couple other regulars at a small table across the room and gave them a nod.

Then he noticed Prussia hadn't touched his beer.

"Drink the beer, Prussia," he ordered. It was a sad day when those were the words he had to tell his brother, of all people. His lips tugged upward of their own volition as he recalled a similar incident in a different time, a different bar, and a world away. "Or do I have to make a rule? How do you feel about running naked around all the pillars of the Brandenburg Gate?"

Prussia laughed, loud and unexpected, and Germany's breath caught, wondering if it was possible the plan was actually working. "How long have you been waiting to use that line on me!" Not waiting for an answer, he picked up the glass, studying its contents. "It means that much to you?" he asked.

"Yes," Germany answered.

And it did. This was the closest he'd come to seeing Prussia act in a normal manner, and he was anxious to see if drinking the beer would help bring him the rest of the way back. Could he have been wrong about the wish being at fault?

He perched on the edge of his barstool as Prussia brought the glass to his lips and took a long sip.

"Tastes fine," he said, setting the glass down on the table.

Disappointment shoved past the hope that had briefly flared to life within Germany's chest, and he released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He shifted back on the stool and took a large swallow of his own beer, and another. It tasted bitter in his mouth. "This was a stupid idea," he said. "Let's go." He set both hands flat against the bar and slid the stool backward as he got to his feet, ready to leave.

A hand covered his own, stopping him. It was Prussia's.

Germany froze and looked at their hands, not knowing how to respond. Which person did the hand belong to? Was this his brother, or the stranger he'd been living with.

Raised voices from the other end of the bar caused them both to look up towards the sound, breaking the moment.

An extremely red-faced, obviously inebriated youth who couldn't have been older than twenty was draped across the bar, so far over that Germany expected him to slide across the top and onto the floor at any moment. Or perhaps the baggy jeans, riding inappropriately low as the young man attempted to reach behind the bar, would be the first to hit the ground, he reconsidered. Beer was everywhere, pooling on the bar next to an overturned glass and dripping down to the floor nearby.

Not a regular, Germany noted.

Reluctantly sliding his hand out from under Prussia's, he walked over to the scene of the disturbance. The other patrons watched uncertainly, but no one else made a move to intervene.

This wasn't the first time either of them had diffused a situation like this here. It was one of the reasons they were always welcomed back, despite the periodic incidents that occurred when the occasional visiting nation showed up and they all got a bit rowdy. With a grimace, he remembered one time in particular that involved Gilbird, a live chicken, and a box of breakfast cereal. On second thought, it may have been the fact that Germany always paid for all the damages—and then some— that allowed them to keep coming back, and not their impromptu bouncer skills.

Glancing back, he was relieved to see that Prussia was right behind him this time as well. As uncharacteristic as he'd been acting, there was still no one else Germany would rather have at his back.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch. I want another!" The dark haired youth made another unsuccessful grab behind the bar.

"I think you've had enough," Germany cut in, grabbing the back of the kid's t-shirt and pulling him forcibly away from the bar.

"You'll pay for that," he growled, stumbling blindly as he was spun around. At least, that's what Germany thought he said. It was hard to tell, the threat was slurred so badly. With a wordless yell, the kid leveled a wild, sloppy punch at Germany's face.

Blocking the pathetic excuse for an attack didn't require any special effort on Germany's part. He easily caught the wrist in mid-air and used the momentum to twist the arm around until its owner was securely restrained in a headlock.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem too happy to be there and thrashed violently. Not that it did any good. A hand, reeking of beer, reached up and tried to claw at Germany's eyes.

Germany wrinkled his nose in disgust and looked pointedly over at Prussia. "A little assistance, here, if you don't mind," he prompted.

Frowning, Prussia approached them and looked sternly at the youth trapped in the headlock. "You know," he said, "drinking that much isn't good for you. Have you considered a different hobby? Football's fun."

A foot slammed down on Germany's instep and he grunted, almost losing his grip. "That wasn't what I meant," he ground out. "Help me subdue him until the police arrive."

Prussia's frown deepened. "Violence isn't the answer, West. Sometimes people just need a good talking to."

"If you don't help me right now, I'm going to use violence on _you_."

The moment of distraction was enough, and the drunk kid broke free and lunged forward at Prussia. Germany wasn't too worried, though; he'd seen his brother take down much larger men practically without trying.

But this time, he watched in shock as his normally aggressive older brother took a large step back and extended both hands, obviously still trying to talk. Germany's eyes went wide. Because while it was true that he'd been acting drastically different, surely Prussia would defend himself when physically attacked. A disturbing thought came to mind: that the wish somehow had an effect on Prussia's combat skills, and he wasn't fighting because he _couldn't_.

Moving quickly, Germany rushed forward, suddenly fearing for Prussia's safety in a way he hadn't in decades. His stomach felt like it had dropped somewhere around his knees when he saw the kid, still advancing and yelling obscenities, grab a thick glass mug from the bar and swing it at Prussia's head.

Time seemed to slow as he realized he was too far away to stop the blow from landing. As horrified as he was, a tiny part of him was also morbidly curious if the direct physical threat would be enough to somehow rouse Prussia back to his old self. If anything was enough for force his brother to start acting like himself again, certainly it would be this.

At the last moment, Deborah's arm shot out from behind the bar, grabbing the glass and jerking it away. The kid was spun around, and the combination of dizziness and alcohol finally overwhelmed him as he crashed to the floor, looking dazed and sick.

The tension and worry fled Germany in a rush, leaving him breathless, and he hurried over to Prussia, needing to see first-hand that he was okay. Even as he approached, Prussia stood unmoving in the same spot, and Germany couldn't tell if he was shaken or wholly unaffected by the whole ordeal.

They stayed until the police came, and relayed their account of events. It wasn't until late into the night when they were eventually able to head home.

Dejected, Germany climbed into bed. The outing was a failure on multiple levels. In addition to it being not fun, he was no closer to getting Prussia back. On the plus side, any of the lingering doubts he had about his wish not being the underlying cause of Prussia's new behavior were laid to rest. It was time to end the fruitless plans and redouble his efforts on the sky.

.

The next evening, Germany was yet again lacing up his casual sneakers in preparation for another long night. He heaved a tired sigh and pushed himself to his feet. And froze.

He was an idiot.

Abandoning everything else, he sprinted to his study and brought the computer out of standby, pulling up a browser window and typing _Meteor Shower schedule_ meticulously into the little search box. Because that's all a shooting star was. A piece of rock burning up in the atmosphere. The same thing as a meteor shower, except a little more random.

And there it was, the answer to his problem right in front of his face. According to the website, a small annual meteor shower was expected to arrive in just a few short weeks.

Relief washed over him and he closed his eyes, slumping against the desk. But then another, less pleasant thought, rushed in on its heels.

What if a known meteor shower didn't count for wishing purposes? Perhaps it only worked for spontaneous events. This was uncharted territory and there was no way to be sure. Germany was woefully uneducated in the protocols that dictated the potential successfulness of star-wishing, and he felt in over his head in regards to the entire situation. But without regulation to guide him, his sole remaining option was to try everything, and so he bookmarked the website and noted the date and time in the paper planner he still insisted on keeping, circling it in red and underlining it in thick strokes of the pen. In the meantime, he would keep going out at night. Maybe he'd get lucky and this would all be over before the meteor shower arrived.

Weeks passed. He didn't get lucky.

When the day finally arrived, Germany was a mess of restless energy. Maintaining the stoic disposition he presented at work was a grueling effort, and despite not having a single meeting to attend, he got absolutely nothing accomplished. For once, that didn't bother him. By late afternoon he abandoned the pretext of productivity entirely and, offering Prussia a flimsy excuse that wasn't questioned, he left early and headed home to recheck his supplies for the coming evening.

As the sky began to dim, Germany drove to the darkest field he could find, far away from the city lights. Arriving at his destination with time to spare, he unpacked his supplies— a folding chair, large insulated travel mug filled with coffee, mp3 player preloaded with a selection of audio books to keep him awake, and corresponding small speakers—and settled in to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Under different circumstances, Germany would've been taken aback at the beauty spread around him. Free of the constant lights of human habitation, the sky bore almost no resemblance to what he had become accustomed to. Looking up, he could almost forget where and when he was as the view brought back memories of simpler times, the days when his only worries were learning about the land surrounding him and following Prussia's lead.

An hour passed. The stillness around him remained unbroken and the sky stayed silent.

It was late and he was tired and uncomfortable, but not willing to quit. According to the website, events of this nature could last multiple days, so it was likely it simply hadn't started yet. All he had to do was wait, and hopefully the first shooting star would be right around the corner.

Correction, around the corner but not for a minute or two yet, he amended, as he stood to relieve himself of the problem drinking half a carafe of coffee had left him with. Although he loved his brother dearly, he didn't care to be making wishes about him while his hands were occupied in a rather intimate place. Fortunately, that scenario did not come to pass, and he soon settled back into the chair, lifting his head to the sky once again.

Another hour ticked by and still nothing.

Words from his audio book continued to stream forth from the small speakers while he kept watch, but as the night wore on, the voice began to lull him to sleep instead of keeping him awake. The coffee ran dry and Germany knew he was reaching the end of his ability to remain awake. Staying alert for days at a time was a skill he had often practiced in wartime, but that had been under specific conditions, punctuated with proper rest and preparation, something he didn't have at his disposal this time around.

Glancing at his wristwatch, he saw it was rapidly approaching the hour when his morning alarm would sound, and he groaned. If he left now, he would have time for a quick nap, but that was it. He felt dismayed and oddly unsurprised all at once at the lack of results; after waiting weeks for this night to come, it seemed too good to be true that a solution was finally within his grasp. Pocketing the small mp3 player and vowing to return again the next night, he stood and made to pack up the rest of his possessions.

A flash of light streaked across the sky.

Germany staggered, steadying one hand against the nearby chair to keep from falling as over a month's worth of anxiety and stress fled in a torrent of pure relief.

Recovering quickly, Germany gathered his thoughts, determined to do it right this time. He was still unsure if a meteor shower was a valid form of wishing, but this seemed to be the first shooting star of the night, so perhaps that counted for something. At the same time, he was unable to shake the feeling that if he screwed this wishing thing up again, the same trick wouldn't work twice.

The same as before, he focused on the spot where the light had been, ignoring the ache of exhaustion, the slight chill of the air, and the tight coil of fear wound tight in the back of his mind that kept insisting there was no way this was going to work. He pushed it all down until there was only one thought left.

_I wish I'd never made that stupid wish. Just please, put Prussia back to normal._

He added one more mental _please_ so as not to appear unsociable and held his breath, waiting. The world was silent in response, as if frozen, the same moment of time stretching on and on forever. He waited some more, entire body alert for some kind of sign that it worked.

There was nothing.

Abruptly, he shook his head, blinking rapidly. Of course there would be nothing, he chastised himself. There wasn't anything the first time, either. With nothing else to be done Germany packed up his supplies, flares of light beginning to stream intermittently across the sky above him as he worked. Clean up completed, he started the long drive home, not sure whether to be excited or apprehensive about the upcoming morning.

.

Exhaustion was the first and last thing on Germany's mind when the shrill tones of his alarm pulled him from sleep. Between days at work, the late night walking sessions, and last night's all-nighter, he was dead on his feet and he wasn't even standing yet.

Last night.

The significance came rushing back and he bolted upright, suddenly feeling much less lethargic.

Prussia.

He sprung out of bed, weariness forgotten. Throwing a t-shirt on over his boxers and attempting to brush the hair from his eyes, he raced from the room. He was almost at the basement stairs when noise from the kitchen distracted him and the rich smell of coffee hit his nose. Dread seized him and with slow, hesitant steps, he made his way towards the source. What he saw made him freeze in the doorway, unable to move forward beyond the threshold.

There stood Prussia, dressed in a suit and leaning against the countertop, sipping from a mug of coffee. Just like every other morning since the first wish.

A litany of denials stampeded through his mind, but there was no refuting what was right in front of him. Germany swallowed past the tightness in his throat, powerless to move or look away. An old memory, half-forgotten, flashed to the front of his mind in unexpected clarity: Prussia hoisting him into his arms as a child, wiping his face, gentle words telling him, _Crying's only for really important things. Everything else we fix. _Coming back to the present and looking at the figure in the kitchen, Germany was forced to admit that that Prussia didn't exist anymore.

He must have made a sound, or a noise, or something to give away his position, because Prussia lifted his head and glanced his way with a happy sounding, "Morning, West."

Caught off guard, Germany composed himself as best he could. "Morning." His voice was ragged, and not merely from lack of sleep. Reluctantly, he took several shuffling steps into the kitchen.

Prussia set his coffee down and pushed himself away from the counter. Crossing the small kitchen, he took down another mug and filled it, walking back over to hand it to Germany. "Here, take this."

Numbly, Germany did as instructed and wrapped his hand around the mug, shifting it to the handle before the heat could seep through and burn his palm. He made no move to drink and instead stared into the depths of the dark liquid, unwilling to look up and face what his mistake had cost him.

Reclaiming his own coffee, Prussia perched on the edge of the kitchen table. He took a long sip and set the mug down beside him before looking keenly over at Germany. "Shit, West. You look worse than me after a three-country drinking binge. What the fuck were you up to last night?"

The words shot through the fog of exhaustion and despair and Germany jerked his head up with a start. Drops of hot coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug, clinging to the bottom before falling to the floor, instantly forgotten as he stared wide-eyed at Prussia. The tone, the language. So familiar and yet completely at odds with the sight in front of him. His heart thudded loud and fast against his chest, echoing in his ears as realization swept through him.

"Prussia?" he asked, almost afraid to voice the question for fear it wouldn't be true. "Is—Is that you?"

Prussia wrinkled his nose and looked around the otherwise empty kitchen. "Who else would it be? You expecting someone else? I swear, if Austria walks through that door, I'm throwing my coffee at him. Yours, too."

Germany didn't blink, didn't move, didn't breathe. "You've been acting not yourself lately." He spoke slowly, as if afraid anything else might cause this hint of his brother's real self to dissipate, leaving the familiar stranger behind to stay.

But if Prussia noticed anything off, he gave no indication. Just rocked back slightly and stretched his arms above his head as much as the suit jacket would allow, craning his head from side to side. "Yeah, I felt a little weird. Strange, huh. But whatever. I woke up feeling awesome this morning!" He looked Germany up and down. "We have a lot of shit to get done today. Get your ass dressed or we'll be late."

Germany made no move to leave the room. He needed to be sure. "Beer," he asked. "What do you think of beer?"

That earned him a raised eyebrow. "Love it. Wish I was drinking it now. Back in my day, real men could make plans _and_ drink beer all at the same time." He pointed an accusing finger at Germany, as if judging him personally responsible for this affront to his favorite drink. "Things have changed since then and not for the better." Cutting his tirade off, Prussia dropped his arm and looked searchingly at Germany, the same assessing, calculating look he usually reserved for maps and battle plans. "What's going on?" he asked. "What's up with you today?"

Germany ignored the question, pressing forward with his own. He had to be sure, unwilling to get his hopes up without sufficient data. "And cigarettes?"

"What the fuck, West?"

"What do you think. Of Cigarettes." Germany took a step closer as he repeated himself, firing the words out, one by one.

"I'm going to smoke one right here in your face if you don't stop acting like you're on drugs!" was the response. Prussia swept a critical eye up and down Germany's form, still clad in his sleepwear. "You're not actually on drugs, right? Stuff's not good for you."

Before he realized what was happening, Prussia hopped off the table and was practically on top of him, one hand extended out in Germany's direction. He was so taken aback that he froze, and was even more surprised when Prussia's fingers made contact with his face, thumb and forefinger lifting his eyelid wide open as piercing red eyes peered intently into his.

"Pupils look normal," Prussia muttered.

"Prussia, get off me." He tried to lean his head away, but Prussia's other arm snaked out and grabbed the back of his head, holding him in place. Mindful of the hot coffee still in one hand, Germany was hesitant to make any sudden moves, but this was getting very strange and his eye was beginning to itch from being exposed to the air for too long. He blindly groped sideways for the table, and the clack of ceramic hitting wood was all the confirmation he needed. Ridding himself of the mug, he pushed at Prussia's chest with both hands.

It worked, and Prussia stumbled backwards. But not before snatching one of Germany's wrists in the process. "Hm, reflexes are a little slow," he mused. Then he pulled.

Germany was propelled forward and quickly turned the stumbling motion into a lunge. Twisting his arm, he went to break the grip on his wrist, but his brother anticipated the maneuver and let go, taking away any opportunity to use the hold against him. Out of nowhere, Prussia followed up with a strike with his other hand. Still one step behind, Germany barely got a hand up in time to block.

Deftly springing backwards on the balls of his feet, Prussia shot out of reach before Germany could regroup and counter. "Hand-eye coordination is passable. Room for improvement." He smiled, that wide smirk that sometimes made Germany want to hit him, but which was a welcome sight now. "Verdict. Get the hell back in bed, West. You look like you're about to fall over."

Germany hardly heard the words, as it finally registered in his brain that he'd done it. He'd reversed the wish and it really was his brother standing in front of him. Obnoxious and foul mouthed and _Prussia_. An unexpected pressure built up in the space behind his eyes and above the bridge of his nose, a renewed sting that, this time, had nothing to do with being upset or disappointed. He pressed his lips together tightly, willing it back.

With a few tentative steps, Prussia was back in front of him, eyes darting rapidly back and forth as if expecting Germany to launch a sneak attack at any moment.

"West? Come on, don't tell me you're that upset over the thought of missing a day of work. I'll even leave the place still standing for you tomorrow. Mostly. Probably." He tilted his head, pursing his lips in mock contemplation. "Unless someone pisses me off. Then all bets are off!"

Prussia's cocky, lopsided grin beamed up at him, a sight that just a few short minutes ago, Germany didn't think he'd ever see again. A heavy lump formed in his throat, cutting off any potential response, and he could feel his tightly controlled willpower, the only thing keeping him composed, crumbling under the strain. Before he fully realized what was happening, he was in motion, crossing the distance between them to throw his arms around Prussia, holding tight and burying his head in the crook of his brother's neck the way he hadn't done since he was a child.

The muscles under his hands tensed in surprise, and he realized how strange this must seem from his brother's perspective, as Prussia hadn't realized anything was wrong to begin with. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and childish and very embarrassed, Germany jerked away, face already heating up. Before he could get very far or attempt to stammer out some sort of excuse, he was pulled back in, an arm wrapping solidly around his back and another coming up to card through his hair, still messy from sleep and not yet in its usual slicked back style.

It was a rare day when Germany allowed his sentimental side free reign, preferring to let things go unsaid and assumed. The same, he knew, was true for Prussia. So he didn't feel too bad about letting himself stay put for a few moments more, relaxing into the embrace and resting his chin back on Prussia's shoulder.

The hand stilled in his hair, settling against the back of his neck.

With a deep breath, Germany tightened his arms one last time, and let go. This time, Prussia let him pull away.

Adopting an air of seriousness, Prussia eyed him with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's going on, West? You've been acting strange all morning."

It was almost impossible to keep himself from bursting into borderline hysterical laughter. After all this, Prussia was calling _his_ behavior strange. But he reined it in, not sure if he would be believed if he tried to explain what had gone on for the past month or so. It must be an effect of this wishing process, he figured, as Prussia hadn't noticed anything amiss the first time, either.

"Nothing's going on," he replied. "I'm just—I'm glad to see you."

Prussia looked far from convinced, but nodded anyway. "I'm serious about you staying in. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Which was fairly accurate, if not a bit understated, Germany reflected. He hadn't been getting near enough rest lately, work and watching the sky consuming all his time. But he couldn't afford to take off now, especially since everything would be up to him again. The thought left him feeling even more exhausted. But another quickly took its place.

"I wasn't expecting you to want to come to work now that you're feeling," Germany stopped, not knowing how to phrase it. "Now that you're feeling awesome again." There, that worked.

There was silence as Prussia didn't immediately respond. Germany took the opportunity to fetch his coffee from the table. He noticed with a frown that a ring had formed around the bottom due to his earlier spill. Sighing, he went to fetch a towel.

A fist full of napkins appeared in his face before he could move. "What makes you say that? I'm perfectly capable of working hard, you know," Prussia responded, handing over the napkins.

Germany diligently wiped down the table and the bottom of the mug before handing the slightly damp paper napkins back to Prussia. With everything now clean, he took a long, satisfying sip of the still-hot coffee before answering.

"I know that. I was just asking." And he did know it. But normally the things Prussia thought were worth working hard for were _unusual_, to put it mildly.

Prussia crossed the kitchen and threw the waste in the trash before grabbing his own unfinished cup of coffee from the table. He turned to face Germany. "I'm in the middle of a project!" he said, anger hovering around the clipped edges of his words. "When's the last time I abandoned a commitment half way through."

It was true. For all his brash loudness and penchant for disturbance, Prussia took things seriously when he thought they deserved it. Germany just hadn't thought modern government work merited that distinction. "You're right. Never mind."

The atmosphere turned cold as Prussia's face hardened in anger. "What is it, then. You don't want me there, working with you? If that's the case, fucking say it already. I don't need your bullshit."

Germany's first thought was that Prussia was impossible. He'd been back to normal for less than half an hour and they were already arguing. But on its heels was pure relief that at least Prussia was fighting, as opposed to the strange passive kindness he'd had grown to hate.

"That's not the case," Germany insisted. "I do want you there."

Prussia's mouth was already open, ready to argue, but it snapped shut with an audible click at the words. "Oh." He fidgeted, sticking a hand in his pants pocket and rocking back on his heels. "Fine, then. But I'm just helping out while you're so busy, so don't expect me to start doing all your work for you. I have a life, you know." He took a step forward and stopped, head tilting to one side as he studied Germany. "You really don't mind sharing your office?"

Germany stared at him. "I'm invoking your same 'bullshit' rule. Is this your way of saying you want your own office?"

Across the distance separating them, he could see the twitch in Prussia's jaw as it clenched, along with the slight flare of his nose. "You never cared before, why start now?"

How had this managed to turn so hostile, so quickly, Germany wondered. "I never thought you wanted any part of it, before." he replied, exasperated. "You never asked."

"You never offered!" The set of Prussia's shoulders, rigid with anger and restrained violence, held an underlying defensiveness only visible to those who knew him well. It was a clear indication that underneath the bluster, his brother's feelings were actually hurt.

Which was nonsense, because, "Yes I did! And you threw a paperweight at me!"

Prussia froze. "Oh yeah," he said, taking the hand out of his pocket to rub at the back of his neck. Then he straightened, intensity back in his eyes as he lifted his chin. "But you never brought it up again. I figured it was because you wanted to keep going solo."

The words shocked Germany into silence and he blinked stupidly as over twenty years' worth of memories realigned in his head, shifting to form a brand new picture. They were both idiots, he realized.

It was true that he'd never repeated his offer to give Prussia a permanent place in the new, reunified Germany. But not for the reasons his brother obviously thought. Prussia had been so insulted the first time he asked that he didn't want to repeat the mistake again. He had assumed when Prussia was ready, he would simply show up and take what he wanted, the way he always did. Evidently, that wasn't the case.

Massaging his temple with one hand, Germany let his eyes fall closed as he reexamined everything in this new light. Then he looked straight at Prussia. "I never brought it up again because the offer has been open this whole time."

Though Prussia didn't respond straightaway, his posture lost the antagonism it had been holding, and he stepped back to rest an elbow on the countertop behind him. He looked away, staring off somewhere over Germany's shoulder. "You never said anything," he said quietly, and Germany couldn't be sure if the words were directed at him or if Prussia was merely speaking his thoughts aloud. "You were doing so well, I didn't want to intrude."

And that was so unlike his brother, who never hesitated to do whatever he wanted and damn the consequences. The fact that he admitted it out loud was shocking, and Germany could only assume that this was something Prussia had kept buried inside for a long time. It hurt to hear, but he was glad they were finally clearing the air.

Determined to fix the longtime misunderstanding, Germany set his jaw and looked directly at Prussia's face, holding steady until red eyes, hooded and guarded, finally looked back over and met his own; he didn't want there to be any lingering doubt for this. "You've always been welcome. I thought you knew."

Prussia scowled, but there was no bite to it, and crossed both his arms loosely over his chest. It was awkward with the mug still clutched in one hand, but he managed to pull it off. "I didn't," he said stiffly.

A snort broke its way past Germany's throat, sounding louder than it actually was in the heavy silence. He let himself smile at the absurdity of it all. "Yes well, I believe that's obvious, now."

Prussia's scowl disappeared as the edges of his mouth curved upwards in an answering smile. "I guess we're both dumb as shit, then," he said.

"Yeah," Germany agreed, already feeling lighter. They still had things to discuss and misunderstandings to smooth over, but looking at Prussia, he could tell they were going to be okay. They would deal with that later. Right now, Germany had something much more immediate and juvenile on his mind. Hiding a mischievous grin and moving quickly before Prussia could react, he shot forward to ruffle a hand through his brother's neatly styled hair.

Sputtering loudly, Prussia knocked the hand away. "Shit, West, I just did this!" he exclaimed, frantically smoothing the white strands down one-handed while trying not to spill what was left of his coffee in the other. But he was smiling as he did it.

Germany laughed, loud and long and happy, and reached out to swat at Prussia again. But this time the move was expected and his intruding hand slapped away. He almost dropped his guard, but then he saw Prussia go on the attack, that same defensive hand now coming back to poke at Germany, and he only barely managed to parry at the last moment. They went back and forth one handed like that, matching mugs of coffee still held in the other, like some bizarre sword duel, until they were both laughing too hard to continue. Eventually agreeing on a truce, they abandoned the battle and slumped against the counter, leaning shoulder to shoulder against each other as they drank what was left of their cooling coffee.

When they finished, Germany set his empty mug in the sink and hurried to get dressed, grinning so hard it almost hurt. There was no way he was staying home to rest when he could spend the day with his brother.

.

**Epilogue**

They walked through the sundrenched halls of the Chancellery building together, footsteps echoing across the otherwise silent corridor.

"I only wish I hadn't gotten rid of those old uniforms. Shit, that was a dumb move." Prussia was smiling, trying to play it off, but the hints of sadness etched around his eyes gave him away.

Though a part of him instinctively cringed at the careless use of the word _wish_, Germany couldn't help the grin that blossomed across his face at the words.

"What?" Prussia asked irritably. "You don't have to act so damn happy. I know you hated those things."

The wild grin grew, stretching his face until he couldn't keep it to himself any longer. "I kept them," he admitted. It took him several strides to realize Prussia was no longer walking next to him. Halting, he turned around.

"You what?" Prussia was standing stock still, head tilted and mouth slightly parted, looking confused and just a little bit hopeful.

Germany made his way back to stand beside him. "They're in my closet. You can have them back when we get home."

A feeling of warmth spread through him as he watched Prussia's face light up, wide smile mirroring Germany's own. He'd long ago come to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could do about his elder brother's former nation, but he was happy to at least be able to give Prussia back this piece of his history.

Prussia schooled his features and looked up at him, unexpectedly solemn. "Thanks, West. You're a good brother."

They continued walking and Germany couldn't help but notice the extra spring in Prussia's step.

"So are you," he replied, and he meant every word. Prussia was loud and stubborn, often offensive, reveled in causing chaos, and was completely unapologetic about all of it.

And Germany wouldn't want him any other way.


End file.
